Yet Another Endorphin Fic
by Besina
Summary: The standard post-case scromp and first time scenario - good but like sooo many others out there. Written perhaps a million years ago...


Written by Besina  
Sometime in 2011

A/N: This was written a loong time ago and due to nerves (I was a new fanficcer back then), never posted. It is really similar in dynamic and even the standard word usage for such a story, so I can't claim it to be anywhere near my best. Still, if you enjoy after-case scromping and first times, this might do it for you, and despite the commonalities, it still reads well.

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The door to 221 slammed open as the two stumbled inside the front hallway, giddy from the chase, endorphins pumping - not unlike their first time running across London together. They leaned back against the entryway wall, giggling like maniacs and trying to catch their breath. And as soon as there was any type of lull, the giggles came back, full force.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Sherlock turned toward his friend. Smiling and shaking his head at some inside joke, he planted his hands on either side of John's head, leaned down quickly and planted a firm kiss on those wonderfully warm lips of his. John stopped laughing abruptly, both confused and shocked for a moment before his brain gave up and he sank into it.

"Sherlock. Mm... Sherlock..." he tried, "not that... not that I mind..." Sherlock's mouth was insistent, "but. Mm... what the...mm... hell are we doing?"

"Kissing, John. Do shut up." And Sherlock angled himself more aggressively toward John's mouth, pressing in with slightly more force. John accepted Sherlock's probing tongue willingly into his mouth, tuning out everything but the physical sensations, which he had to admit, were rather overwhelming. Minutes ticked by silently while the two explored each other before John tried again.

"Again, not ... that I mind," Sherlock's tongue laved over his own, tangling with it for a moment, "which is odd in itself but..."

Sherlock left off of his mouth and trailed his attentions down the side of John's neck which left the doctor gasping as Sherlock managed to stimulate all the erogenous zones there as he nibbled his way downward.

Gaining some breath back, John pushed on, determined to finish his thought, "but I'm not gay, Sherlock, at least I really don't... _holy christ!_"

Sherlock smiled at this last outburst and murmured into the side of John's neck, "And I'm mostly uninterested in sex, but I think..." he took a second to nibble John's ear until the doctor's legs got wobbly, "that we are outliers on any chart you'd care to make..." Here a bite, nibble then deep suction just below John's ear, which made him have to support the doctor's weight for a second til John regained his balance...

"We're comfortable with each other, drawn toward one another on many levels and currently..." a lick up the side of John's neck before whispering into his ear, "...awash in endorphins that are demanding some play. I know if my body's insisting I get off or explode, yours must be threatening a death of an even greater magnitude."

Forehead resting against John's, his voice dropped an octave, "Whatever we are, John, all I want to do right now is come, and hopefully bring you off with me."

"Is it wrong that I really want to see you come?" John clamped his mouth back over Sherlock's before surfacing to clarify: "That's rhetorical..."

John backed up the stairs, pulling Sherlock after him, breathing heavily as they continued to kiss, come apart and back together as they proceeded upward.

"Never... never thought anything like _this_ would happen, Sherlock, but _ohgod, shit!_"

Sherlock continued biting and sucking playfully, delighting in making John forget what he was saying.

They made it in the door of their flat, and Sherlock pinned John against the back of the door, closing the lock with two fingers as he continued assaulting the man's sensitive neck, both men breathing hard as John's fingers scrabbled for a grip on Sherlock's shoulders, as he leaned his head back, exposing as much neck as possible.

Sherlock growled and moved to the far side of John's newly exposed throat, laving kisses, nips and bites down it. He took a step back from the door and quickly shed his coat, John following, unwilling to break off from the fantastic sensations Sherlock was causing in him.

The kissing was only momentarily interrupted as both men fumbled at each other's shirt buttons, John managing to slip Sherlock's from his shoulders mere moments before Sherlock managed the same with John's.

John took one long look at the beautiful pale chest in front of him, shook his head dismissing some useless thought or another before diving forward, catching Sherlock's nipple in his mouth while backing Sherlock through the bedroom doorway. Caught a little unawares by John's sudden aggressiveness, Sherlock's breath hitched as he tilted his head back, taking in great gulps of air as the sensation washed over him, gooseflesh rising across his skin.

John's fingers tripped delicately down Sherlock's arms to start stroking the front of his thighs. Soon all pretence of modesty vanished as they sought out and began rubbing against the fabric covering Sherlock's rather impressive erection.

Sherlock groaned then muttered in the doctor's ear, "Oh to hell with that, John" before he flipped him over, landing John dead centre in the bed before crawling in quickly after him. John pulled him up and on top of him, before turning his attention back to Sherlock's neck and chest, his hips quietly thrusting up toward the detective. Sherlock's nimble fingers made quick work of their belts and trouser fastenings, and the two took a moment to kick off the remainder of their clothes before falling back together in a mass of limbs on the bed.

Bits of words floated between the two of them, everything from appreciative moans and groans, to curses, directives, and the one Sherlock filed away for later: a gasp, followed by "_...fucking brilliant!_"

But it wasn't until their cocks rubbed against each other that time stopped. John took in a stuttering breath and held it, looking at Sherlock, eyes wide. Sherlock also stilled, looking back at John, then quickly wrapped his fingers around them both, John exhaled, and time caught up as they both started rutting madly into Sherlock's hand, rubbing against each other as they did so.

Despite the bit of precome they both had contributed, although the sensation was good, it was dry, and unsustainable. They collapsed next to each other for a moment, collecting themselves. "Fucking hell, Sherlock, I'm aching..." John began, but was immediately quieted as Sherlock slid down his body, his intentions clear.

"Oh, Sherlock, no, you don't have to..._ohmygod!fuckyes!_" John's fingers knotted in Sherlock's curls as Sherlock took him to the root, head bobbing rhymically and eyes gleaming mischievously whenever they caught John's gaze, who looked on, captivated by the sight of Sherlock's head between his thighs. The sensations were too good, however, and he found he had to let his head loll back against the mattress, still running his fingers through Sherlock's hair as Sherlock worked to bring him off.

That's when the thought hit him: Sherlock, that brilliant mind, wanted to get him off, was doing everything in his power to get him off. And when Sherlock put his mind to something, he rarely failed at it. Sherlock_, _this Sherlock, was going to make him come, and there was nothing he could do about it (well, to be honest, nothing he _wanted_ to do about it).

John's breath started coming harder and faster, the endorphins and the high from earlier in the night were still there, but now it wasn't just random lust; it was focused. It was _all_ Sherlock. Sherlock was doing this to him, leaving him breathless, begging for more, Sherlock, who didn't _do_ sex, wanted to make him come and _god_, did he ever want to! He snuck a peek downward to see Sherlock's lips wrapped around him and found his ability to hold back completely vanished. He managed to pant out a warning seconds before exploding. Sherlock pulled off and stroked him through his climax, his eyes taking in every detail. John's entire body tensed, lifting him off the bed, head thrown back in a silent scream for moments at a time, then collapsing back into a panting, moaning mess, eyes watering from the sheer intensity of it.

At some point Sherlock procured a towel and cleaned John up, though he wasn't aware of it.

As he came back to himself, John realised Sherlock still hadn't been brought to completion and he was damned if that state of affairs was something he was going to allow to continue, regardless of whether Sherlock was being magnanimous about it or not.

"It's okay, John, you're recuperating. There's no need to..."

"Shut up you daft git," was all John managed before throwing himself atop Sherlock and beginning to tease and nip along his chest and neck, running his hands everywhere as Sherlock sucked in several quick breaths. "God, you're gorgeous," was murmured almost as an afterthought, as John's fingers snaked down over his cock grasping it firmly, before flicking his thumb over the weeping head, then slowly stroking the length of it.

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed slowly, steadily outward, focusing on the sensations and willing himself to stay in control. He felt John's cock twitch a little against his thigh, soft now, but still interested, and he pushed his own back up against John's hand, his brow creased in concentration.

John moved his hand quickly, skilfully, as he whispered in Sherlock's ear, "No holding back now, Sherlock. I want, fuck that, I _need_ to see you come undone." His strokes grew stronger, more deliberate. Sherlock whimpered quietly then curled upward to bite John's ear, moaning more as he did so. The echoing of Sherlock's breath against the shell of his ear quickly set John to moaning again as well. His stroking picked up pace yet again, and Sherlock's hips snapped up to meet his fist.

"That's it...fuck my fist. _Fuck it_, Sherlock!" John growled into his ear. The pace grew frenzied as Sherlock's hips bucked upward, John's hand flying up and down his length. Sherlock's panting stuttered and John brought his mouth down against the detective's neck, sucking fiercely against the pulse point, pushing him over the edge, and pumping him through it, until the last shivers were wrung from his body.

Panting, they lay together while John's far hand searched for and secured the towel for Sherlock.

"John," breathed Sherlock, trying for a normal voice.

"Sherlock," replied John.

They lay gathering their breath for a few more minutes before sleep overcame them both.

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End Notes:

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